I’ve walked around this mountain,
So many times that I can’t tell–
The peak from the valley–
The flowers from the dust.
Where the sky starts–
Where the ground begins.
How far I’ve come–
What’s left to go.
All I know is that the days beat on and on,
I’m knee deep in mud,
And it’s all I have not to lay down and die right here,
In a murky, brown, grave.
I’ve walked miles and miles to get this off my mind,
Cried tears and tears to flush him out,
And all that’s left is water in my hands,
And bloody marks on my feet.
If you have a plan, why is there no map in my hands?
If there’s a destination,
How come the landscape seems to blend together?
Like one of those kaleidoscopes I had as a kid,
Greens and blues,
Until I don’t remember if I’m coming or going.
If you’re always with me,
Then explain the long stretches of solitude?
My voice echoing off of the crisp cold night sky.
When I fall to my knees,
And I grip the waxy, shoots of grass in my palms,
Begging for an end,
Begging for a clear view,
You change my song to Hallelujah,
And still I’ll walk on.